


We're in this together

by Trash



Category: Linkin Park
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 17:16:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash/pseuds/Trash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He could be this man’s dirty little secret. But he would never, ever be happy</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're in this together

It was only meant to be a one night stand. Well, an all-day-and-all-night stand. A fuck-fest fuelled by alcohol and amphetamines and the danger of my-wife-might-call-me-at-any-minute and Brad gritting his teeth and pressing his fist hard to Chester’s mouth to shut him the fuck up.

Until then, Brad had no idea what a pain in the ass carpet burns are. Literally. And he could write a list of reasons he hates whisker burns, and why he always made sure Mike shaved before they fucked.

Maybe that’s what this is all about – Chester isn’t Mike, but adores him in the same way. All his other fucks, they’ve just been somebody he picked up in a bar or a club or at college. Up until tonight, his best fuck had been with his professor at UCLA. Bending that guy over his desk, knowing at any moment somebody could walk in...

After a while, though, Chester becomes all he can think about. He spends most of his time trying not to think about how it felt to slam him against the wall so hard his head hit it and he bled, just a little. Even when he is so drunk he can barely stand all he can think of is Chester on his knees on his stomach on his back with his legs wrapped hard around Brad’s waist pulling him deeper and deeper and oh, fuck.

He doesn’t call him, shows up on the door step of the ratty little bed sit he is renting and smirks, predatorily.

Mike disapproves. They’re both of them married, and by now it’s time to stop this shit. But he has a hard time being judgemental after Brad points out that Rob has been staying at his place an awful lot recently whilst his wife is away on business. Mike blushes furiously and shrugs. “Yeah, well,” he says and then goes silent.

“Yeah,” Brad says.

“It’s different.”

“Not really.”

“Yeah,” Mike says, “really. Because I...Rob and I...I mean...who was I kidding, marrying Anna? Who was I kidding, really?”

“Not me.”

“Fuck you, asshole.”

After that, they don’t talk about it.

It goes on like that. Sneaking out the back of clubs after gigs, locking themselves in the dressing rooms of the tiny venues they play. Desperate kisses and hurries hand jobs. It goes on like that for a long time. And then his wife moves to California.

The house they share is in the suburbs and Brad hates it. Still, smiles with gritted teeth when he is invited to Chester’s housewarming party and his wife walks over to him, beaming, going “Hi! I’m Samantha. You must be Brad. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Up until then Brad hadn’t even known her name. But he still says, “Samantha, hi. Chester never stops talking about you.”

This had been his dream, once upon a time. He got married, too. Elisa looked beautiful in her flowing wedding gown, as white as the coke they snorted all morning before they had to leave for the ceremony. It’s not love if you hit each other, if you’re both of you having affairs. And Brad doesn’t doubt for a second that some of his tricks have been fucked by her, too.

He tries to explain all of this to Chester. But Chester, he really loves Samantha with all that he has. So instead Brad turns to Mike who is more than happy to go to the beach with a crate of beers and a couple of litres of vodka and get totally smashed.

“I’m trapped,” Brad says.

Mike shrugs and throws an empty Corona bottle toward the sea. “Who isn’t?”

“Chester. Chester has everything he’s ever fucking wanted.”

Mike looks at Brad for a second and narrows his eyes. “Not everything.”

And for a while Brad didn’t know what that meant. But then one day Chester shows up on his front porch, dripping wet from the storm raging outside and crying. Hysterical, gut wrenching sobs. Brad steps back and lets him walk in.

He looks pathetic, standing in the hallway dripping wet and sobbing uncontrollably. And after a moment of nothing but his desperate gasping for breath and Brad’s indifferent silence Chester stammers, “I can’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“This,” Chester says and gestures between them both. “Us. I can’t. I’m ruining everything.”

Brad stares back at him blankly and takes a deep breath. “You can’t dump me, if that’s what you’re angling at.”

Chester scrubs at his eyes fiercely and laughs. “Oh I can’t?”

“You aren’t my boyfriend, Chester. If you don’t want to fuck anymore then fine. I understand. My tits aren’t as fine as Sam’s.”

“Brad...”

“No. I get it. Whatever, you didn’t have to come over. A phone call would have done it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No,” Brad says, “no you’re not. You’ve always just worried about Sam finding out. Like the world will end. I have a wife too, you know.”

“Who you don’t love.” Chester snaps.

“No, I don’t fucking love her but I do fucking love you!”

This comes as a shock to Chester, but even more of a shock to Brad. He stands frozen, his mouth hanging open. This had always been something he’d thought about. Worried about. Because, fuck, it’s Chester. And they’re both married. And, as if Chester cares anyway. It was always just a fuck.

Until it wasn’t.

Until Chester is standing still dripping all over Brad’s hallway floor going “You love me?”

“Go home to your wife, asshole.” Brad mutters and turns away, walks into the kitchen to pop a beer.

“No, Brad, hold up.”

“You can’t have what you want, Chester.”

Chester stops in the doorway of the kitchen and jams his hands on his hips like the goddamned drama queen that he is and asks, “And what is that, Brad?”

“Both of us. You can’t have your picket fence life with Sam and shack up with me when it suits you.”

“It isn’t like that...”

“Yeah,” Brad says, knocking back a long swig of beer, “yeah it is.”

Chester shakes his head and folds his arms across his chest, staring at the tiles on the floor. “It’s not. What happens? I mean. What if you love someone, but then someone else comes along and you love them too? What do you do?”

“You’re only saying this because I accidentally dropped the ‘L’ bomb.” Brad smirks. He leans back against the counter on his elbows. “Just get over it, Chet. There’s nothing for you here.”

Chester stalks forward, his arms falling to his side as he walks toward where Brad stands. He bites his lip and studies Brad’s expression, trying to read him. “Really?” he drapes his arms around Brad’s shoulders and presses their bodies together, his shirt soaking into Brad’s.

Brad rests his forehead against Chester’s and takes a deep breath. He could let this happen. He could be this man’s dirty little secret. But he would never, ever be happy.

He presses his hands to Chester’s hips gently and pushes him away, whispers, “Yeah. Really. Now, go home.”

Chester stands there for a moment, stunned and rejected. He nods to himself and blinks furiously as if he may start crying again. Leaves before he does, though, and closes the front door quietly behind him.

It takes a little while for it to set in. And when it does Brad sinks to the floor, and blinks back hot, angry tears.


End file.
